Louis Kornitzer's book, Gem Trader, is partly autobiographical and partly woven round the lore of pearls. It's educational + explains the distribution chain of gems, as they pass from hand to hand, from miner to cutter, from merchant to millionaire, from courtesan to receiver of stolen goods, shaping human lives as they go + the unique characters in the industry.
(via Gem Trader) Louis Kornitzer writes:
Anyone can peddle shoelaces, but it will be obvious to any layman that there must be considerable amount of cash in hand before one can hope to be a diamond merchant. On the face of it it looks like one of those mysterious occupations that you cannot work up to. There are no correspondence courses for learning to be a president or a diamond merchant, and no ‘assisted passages’.
Nevertheless, you do not need much money, despite appearances, to be a diamond merchant—provided you have the necessary credit. Ever since the first struggling days when I first established myself I have enjoyed two vital things: good health and good credit. Nevertheless, it was not through any effort on my part that I first handled diamonds. It was in the days when I was still handling amethysts, peridots, opals, sapphires, anything, in fact, that came along, but was already deep in my lifelong attachment to pearls. A man named Brodnik came to see me.
I knew him by name. He was a dabbler in many things, considered a well-to-do man. This would-be diamond merchant was a short stocky figure with waxed moustache and a fund of good stories. He said to me at once: ‘I have watched you for a long time. I believe you are the man for me. Money talks. I am prepared to trust you. I want you to buy diamonds with my money and split profits fifty-fifty.’
Well, it was not all quite so simple as all that, but in the end I agreed to some such arrangement. I wanted the money put into my own bank, but he insisted on a bank in the City where he had certain discounting facilities. After all, it was his money, I thought, and so what he said went. Unfortunately, after I had bought a few parcels of diamonds and sold them at a good profit, and was beginning to think that the word ‘diamond’ had a musical sound, the unforseen happened.
One day Brodnik turned up at the office looking worried. ‘Trouble for you,’ he said sadly.
‘What trouble?’ said I.
‘Your bank has closed its doors this morning.’ He mentioned the establishment where he had deposited my diamond working capital.
‘Your bank, you mean,’ I corrected him.
‘Not mine,’ he said even more sadly. ‘My account there don’t matter a peapod. I’m overdrawn at that bank for forty pounds. Don’t you worry about me. Well, what are you going to do about it? I’m looking to you for my money.’
Brodnik was my old man of the sea for some time, until I was lucky enough to get out of his clutches. I did not touch diamond again for years.
My second venture into the brilliants market came when I was associated with a prominent French pearl dealer for the purpose of tapping new sources of pearl supplies in the South Seas. Wherever I went on that trip I was asked whether I had anything to offer in diamonds. I accordingly and optimistically drew my Paris associate’s attention to the possibilities of increasing our profit, and asked him to ship some diamonds of the right sort.
He had a first class brain, had my friend Jacques. Nevertheless, he envisaged my South Seas customers as a series of native rajahs and dusky chiefs, and he shipped to me as his first consignment a golden elephant with turquoise eyes and diamond-spattered trunk. The next week he sent me an ivory cane carved at the top into the semblance of an Indian god with diamonds set in eyes, nostrils and ears. There was no third consignment, or he might have sent me a meerschaum studded with brilliants or something even more hopeless than he did send. I gave diamonds a wide berth for another eight years.
Then one day in New York I was introduced to a prominent Antwerp diamond cutter who had risen from poverty to possession of the biggest diamond factory in Belgium and had unlimited credit. This man again broached diamonds to me. ‘I’m surprised that you should be content with pearls when you could, with your connections, build up a diamond business in the Far East second to none.’
I told him dryly of my first two experiences with diamonds. He laughed. ‘Third time lucky,’ he said. ‘This time you are going to hit the sky.’ But that is a story I must reserve for a later chapter.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The Invention Of Oil Painting
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
4
Tradition relates that Quinten Massys, the ‘smith of Antwerp’ became a painter only because his sweetheart would not marry a smith. The swinging brushwork and broad handling which he substituted for the small detailed touches of the earlier painters well accord with the vigor demanded by the work of a smithy. His handling of color is also new, for instead of placing unbroken blues, reds, yellows, etc., in immediate juxtaposition, he marshals his hues into a uniform color scheme. Disliking smallness in all things, he painted figures almost life-size; and when the size of his picture forbade the full length, he contended himself with half figures rather than reduce his scale to miniature proportions. ‘The Banker and his Wife’ at Louvre is a fine example of this innovation.
With the death of Quinten Massys in 1530 the first period of Flemish painting comes to an end. The next generation of Flemings either practised their art in Italy or, like Jan Gossart, called Mabuse (c. 1472-1535), imported Italian fashions in painting.
Mabuse, who took his name from the town of Maubeuge, where he was born about 1472, was a Fleming before he naturalized his art. This we may see by studying the magnificent example of his first manner at the National Gallery. ‘The Adoration of the Magi’, bought for the nation from the Countess of Carlisle in 1911, was painted by Mabuse before he visited Italy. In the architectural background we get a hint of the influence of Roger van der Weyden; the thirty figures in their rather pompous costumes are stolid and almost stony in comparison with the grace of his later works.
Some ten years later Mabuse visited Italy in the train of the Duke of Burgundy, and in Florence Mabuse came under the influence of Leonardo da Vinci. That his first contact with the new naturalism did not have altogether happy results we know by the commonplace realism of his ‘Adam and Eve’ at Hampton Court. Soon, however, the warm air of Italy won him to gentleness, and in his Italianised works it is as a portrait-painter that Mabuse excels. Of his many portraits of ‘Margaret Tudor’ (the elder sister of Henry VIII), which now hangs in the Scottish National Gallery at Edinburgh.
4
Tradition relates that Quinten Massys, the ‘smith of Antwerp’ became a painter only because his sweetheart would not marry a smith. The swinging brushwork and broad handling which he substituted for the small detailed touches of the earlier painters well accord with the vigor demanded by the work of a smithy. His handling of color is also new, for instead of placing unbroken blues, reds, yellows, etc., in immediate juxtaposition, he marshals his hues into a uniform color scheme. Disliking smallness in all things, he painted figures almost life-size; and when the size of his picture forbade the full length, he contended himself with half figures rather than reduce his scale to miniature proportions. ‘The Banker and his Wife’ at Louvre is a fine example of this innovation.
With the death of Quinten Massys in 1530 the first period of Flemish painting comes to an end. The next generation of Flemings either practised their art in Italy or, like Jan Gossart, called Mabuse (c. 1472-1535), imported Italian fashions in painting.
Mabuse, who took his name from the town of Maubeuge, where he was born about 1472, was a Fleming before he naturalized his art. This we may see by studying the magnificent example of his first manner at the National Gallery. ‘The Adoration of the Magi’, bought for the nation from the Countess of Carlisle in 1911, was painted by Mabuse before he visited Italy. In the architectural background we get a hint of the influence of Roger van der Weyden; the thirty figures in their rather pompous costumes are stolid and almost stony in comparison with the grace of his later works.
Some ten years later Mabuse visited Italy in the train of the Duke of Burgundy, and in Florence Mabuse came under the influence of Leonardo da Vinci. That his first contact with the new naturalism did not have altogether happy results we know by the commonplace realism of his ‘Adam and Eve’ at Hampton Court. Soon, however, the warm air of Italy won him to gentleness, and in his Italianised works it is as a portrait-painter that Mabuse excels. Of his many portraits of ‘Margaret Tudor’ (the elder sister of Henry VIII), which now hangs in the Scottish National Gallery at Edinburgh.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Nuclear Regulatory Commission
Here is a fact sheet on irradiated gemstones via NRC’s 'Fact Sheets & Brochures' page.
More info @ U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission
More info @ U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission
Why Are We Repeatedly Misled By Market Forecasts That Are Consistently Wrong?
I think we are brought up to be insecure, and we look to others for the sources and solutions to our problems, rather than looking to ourselves.
The Awful Truth
The Awful Truth (1937)
Directed by: Leo McCarey
Screenplay: Viña Delmar, Arthur Richman (play)
Cast: Irene Dunne, Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy
(via YouTube): The Awful Truth
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kooj5oyujd4
A unique romantic comedy for all seasons + I enjoyed it.
Directed by: Leo McCarey
Screenplay: Viña Delmar, Arthur Richman (play)
Cast: Irene Dunne, Cary Grant, Ralph Bellamy
(via YouTube): The Awful Truth
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kooj5oyujd4
A unique romantic comedy for all seasons + I enjoyed it.
Charitable Magic
Economist writes about Harry Potter and the hugely profitable sketches by J.K.Rowling + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/marketview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10170822
Where Rube Goldberg Meets Kafka
Robin Cembalest writes about Havana Bienal + the curious mix of capitalism and communism + other viewpoints @ http://www.artnews.com/issues/article.asp?art_id=862
The Invention Of Oil Painting
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
The first great figure in Flemish painting who appears to owe little to either of the Van Eycks is Hans Memlinc (c. 1430-94), who probably studied at Cologne before he settled in Bruges about 1467. His paintings in the Hospital of St. John’s at Bruges are world famous, and round them has been woven a pretty legend.
Young Memlinc, the story goes, while fighting as a soldier of Charles the Bold, was desperately wounded and dragged himself to the Hospital of St. John at Bruges, where he was kindly received and his wounds tended. When cured, out of gratitude for no fee, he painted the picture still to be seen in the Hospital.
Unfortunately, historical research has demolished the legend and reveals Memlinc as no soldier of fortune but a prosperous citizen and house-owner in Bruges. Yet the legend well accords with the character of Memlinc’s paintings, which have been likened to ‘the visions of a sick man in convalescence’.
Just as the name of Michael Angelo is indissolubly linked to the Sistine Chapel in Rome, so is that of Memlinc to the Hospital of St. John at Bruges. But while we are awed by the heroic figures and magnitude of the Italian’s paintings at Rome, in Bruges we are fascinated and bewitched by the bijou qualities of the Fleming’s art. Memlinc’s large triptych in the Hospital, ‘The Virgin and Child Enthroned’ with panels on either side of ‘St. John the Baptist’ and of ‘St. John the Evangelist at Patmos,’ is not the work that takes our breath away: it is the ‘Shrine of St. Ursula,’ a wonderfully painted casket—made to hold relics of the saint. Though only 3 feet long and less than 3 feet high, this casket is covered with eight panel paintings, and six medallions on the roof slopes.
Looking at these poetical pictures of a romantic story, it seems ungracious to recall that the legend of St. Ursula, according to modern science, rests on no surer foundation than the discovery in medieval times of an old Roman burial ground. From these unknown remains, it is now said, the tale of Ursula and her 11000 virgins was constructed. Many versions of the legend are in existence; but none nearer than five or six centuries to the date when the events were supposed to have happened. This is the version followed by Memlinc.
Ursula, daughter of a King of Brittany or Cornwall, either to delay marriage with a pagan prince, or alternately to escape the persecution of the British Emperor Maximian, was enjoined to go on a pilgrimage and make 11000 virgins her companion. The company sailed up the Rhine via Cologne to Basle, and thence went by foot to Rome, where they were received by the Pope with every honor and attention. Returning, they sailed up the Rhine from Basle, with papal benedictions, but on arriving at Cologne, they were slaughtered by the Huns. After the martyrdom, their relics were piously collected and buried.
That is the story, and it will be noted that Memlinc, to show how absolutely the Pope was in sympathy with St. Ursula, actually makes him embark with her at the start of the return journey. Incidentally these miniature paintings show that Memlinc knew Cologne well, for in all the scenes which take place in the city he was effectively introduced the Cathedral and other of its principal buildings.
The spirituality of Memlic’s portraiture, his power to paint the soul as well as the surface, is beautifully exemplified in ‘The Duke of Cleves’. His romanticism, a new note which Memlinc definitely contributed to painting, is bewitchingly exhaled from his ‘Betrothal of St. Catherine’ and the ‘Legend of St. Ursula,’ both of which are touching in their simplicity, their freshness, and miniature daintiness.
Already the city, so wealthy in the days of the Van Eycks, had become in the time of Memlinc Bruges-la-Morte. Something of its sad poetic solitude pervades his pictures. The great house of the Medici had collapsed, the rich merchants had gone elsewhere, and the next great Flemish painter, Quinten Massys (1466-1530), was domiciled in Antwerp.
3
The first great figure in Flemish painting who appears to owe little to either of the Van Eycks is Hans Memlinc (c. 1430-94), who probably studied at Cologne before he settled in Bruges about 1467. His paintings in the Hospital of St. John’s at Bruges are world famous, and round them has been woven a pretty legend.
Young Memlinc, the story goes, while fighting as a soldier of Charles the Bold, was desperately wounded and dragged himself to the Hospital of St. John at Bruges, where he was kindly received and his wounds tended. When cured, out of gratitude for no fee, he painted the picture still to be seen in the Hospital.
Unfortunately, historical research has demolished the legend and reveals Memlinc as no soldier of fortune but a prosperous citizen and house-owner in Bruges. Yet the legend well accords with the character of Memlinc’s paintings, which have been likened to ‘the visions of a sick man in convalescence’.
Just as the name of Michael Angelo is indissolubly linked to the Sistine Chapel in Rome, so is that of Memlinc to the Hospital of St. John at Bruges. But while we are awed by the heroic figures and magnitude of the Italian’s paintings at Rome, in Bruges we are fascinated and bewitched by the bijou qualities of the Fleming’s art. Memlinc’s large triptych in the Hospital, ‘The Virgin and Child Enthroned’ with panels on either side of ‘St. John the Baptist’ and of ‘St. John the Evangelist at Patmos,’ is not the work that takes our breath away: it is the ‘Shrine of St. Ursula,’ a wonderfully painted casket—made to hold relics of the saint. Though only 3 feet long and less than 3 feet high, this casket is covered with eight panel paintings, and six medallions on the roof slopes.
Looking at these poetical pictures of a romantic story, it seems ungracious to recall that the legend of St. Ursula, according to modern science, rests on no surer foundation than the discovery in medieval times of an old Roman burial ground. From these unknown remains, it is now said, the tale of Ursula and her 11000 virgins was constructed. Many versions of the legend are in existence; but none nearer than five or six centuries to the date when the events were supposed to have happened. This is the version followed by Memlinc.
Ursula, daughter of a King of Brittany or Cornwall, either to delay marriage with a pagan prince, or alternately to escape the persecution of the British Emperor Maximian, was enjoined to go on a pilgrimage and make 11000 virgins her companion. The company sailed up the Rhine via Cologne to Basle, and thence went by foot to Rome, where they were received by the Pope with every honor and attention. Returning, they sailed up the Rhine from Basle, with papal benedictions, but on arriving at Cologne, they were slaughtered by the Huns. After the martyrdom, their relics were piously collected and buried.
That is the story, and it will be noted that Memlinc, to show how absolutely the Pope was in sympathy with St. Ursula, actually makes him embark with her at the start of the return journey. Incidentally these miniature paintings show that Memlinc knew Cologne well, for in all the scenes which take place in the city he was effectively introduced the Cathedral and other of its principal buildings.
The spirituality of Memlic’s portraiture, his power to paint the soul as well as the surface, is beautifully exemplified in ‘The Duke of Cleves’. His romanticism, a new note which Memlinc definitely contributed to painting, is bewitchingly exhaled from his ‘Betrothal of St. Catherine’ and the ‘Legend of St. Ursula,’ both of which are touching in their simplicity, their freshness, and miniature daintiness.
Already the city, so wealthy in the days of the Van Eycks, had become in the time of Memlinc Bruges-la-Morte. Something of its sad poetic solitude pervades his pictures. The great house of the Medici had collapsed, the rich merchants had gone elsewhere, and the next great Flemish painter, Quinten Massys (1466-1530), was domiciled in Antwerp.
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